


supposed to be

by Phoenix_Allura (Artemis_Autumn_Marie)



Series: Nix's Thominho Week 2020 [2]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Gen, Hurt Minho (Maze Runner), Hurt Thomas (Maze Runner), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Minho (Maze Runner), Protective Thomas (Maze Runner), Royalty AU, Thominho Week, Thominho Week 2020, Wingfic, courting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28617738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Autumn_Marie/pseuds/Phoenix_Allura
Summary: Prompts: Wingfic AU and Royalty AUThomas is not ready for this. He wants to declare courtship, he's ready for this.Ready to be an adult.So why is he still so scared?
Relationships: Alby/Newt (Maze Runner), Gally & Minho (Maze Runner), Gally & Newt (Maze Runner), Gally & Thomas (Maze Runner), Harriet/Sonya | Elizabeth "Lizzy" (Maze Runner), Minho & Newt (Maze Runner), Minho/Thomas (Maze Runner), Newt & Thomas (Maze Runner), they're all friends okay - Relationship
Series: Nix's Thominho Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078001
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19
Collections: Pieces of Thominho, Thominho Week 2020





	1. falling, falling into you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Izcana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izcana/gifts), [un-ah (NeverConformEver)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverConformEver/gifts).



> Thanks to my betas Clod and Izcana! They helped so much with this fic.

Thomas didn’t want to open his eyes.

Over the past three weeks, he had been slowly molting, and now he was going from his adolescent grays and browns to his adult colors. As was tradition, he’d avoided mirrors and no one had told him what his wings looked like as his new feathers came in. 

Today he could look.

It was supposed to be a happy day, the most important day in his young life.

Thomas didn’t want to open his eyes.

“Come on, Thomas, look already. It’ll be fine and you know it.” Easy for Gally to say. His wings had molted nearly a year ago. He’d been just as scared as Thomas was.

Maybe that was part of the tradition, and no one talked about it because they didn’t want to admit to fear.

Thomas opened his eyes, and closed them again. Why was this so scary? He knew his wings would likely be nice; his parents had nice wings.

Taking a breath, ignoring Gally’s grumbling, Thomas opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was dark blue; then he caught the subtle greens and their patterns on his wings. His outer feathers were a medium grey. Thomas let out a sigh and smiled.

“See, shank? You’re fine.”

“Shut up, Gally.”

“Now, let’s go see Minho and Newt. They’ve been asking about you.” 

"Well, make them stop." Thomas joked, but his stomach fluttered. He and Minho had been courting, unofficially, for two years. It was unfair that Gally got to see Minho more than he did, but Gally was the son of a duke and Thomas was the son of a merchant, while Minho was a prince. 

(He usually did not act like a prince, being that he was the second son.)

"Thomas, stop thinking," Gally ordered. 

"Yes, Your Grace," Thomas said, cheekily.

"Keep that up and I'll see you get a peerage, Thomas," Gally warned, but it was an empty threat. He'd said it many times before. Thomas might not be gentry, but he was a merchant's son, and that was enough for him. "And stop being surprised that Minho's asking about you. He's literally your boyfriend, you dork."

"I know, I know. " Thomas laughed. It was just fun to mess with Gally. "Where are we meeting them?"

"You mean where are you meeting Minho? In the garden. Don't forget that we have a ball tonight. You're expected to attend." 

"But I'm not an eligible bachelor."

"Yes, but no one will know that until tonight." Thomas sighed again. He hated some of these traditions. He and Minho couldn't officially declare anything until both of their wings were in full.

It hadn't stopped them from courting, of course, but most people courted around and didn't settle down until after their adult molting. Thomas knew the way to the garden, after all these years, and Gally had to go get Sonya and Harriet. They parted at the main stairs; Thomas met Minho alone.

"Hello, Thomas." Minho, his black and green wings folded formally behind him, sketched a bow. "Shall we go for a walk?" He offered his arm, and Thomas accepted. It wasn't polite to mention new colors unless invited. 

(There were a lot of rules around wings, most of which Thomas didn't care to remember and even fewer that he actually followed.)

"I like your wings; they suit you."

"Thank you." Thomas dipped his head shyly; it was a habit, now. “Are we going to declare tonight?” They hadn’t talked about it much; maybe they should have.

“Not tonight—not until the end of the season, I’m thinking. We’ve been unofficial for so long that it wouldn’t hurt to give them a show, would it?” Minho smirked at him, and Thomas bit his lip.

He wanted to be declared as soon as possible.

“Of course, if you want to declare sooner, we can. But we should do a private declaration first.” Minho said gently. Thomas thought about it for a minute.

"Maybe that would be best. Private first. But at the third ball, we'll declare publicly." Minho nodded.

"It's a wonder it hasn't already been predicted; the gossip papers follow me so much." Minho muttered. "You'd think they'd be all over the second prince, courting steadily with another." 

"Aren't you rather glad they're not?" Thomas was, and when he and Minho reached their usual spot he sat on the ground ungracefully. Minho huffed, but copied him.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go for a flight today; show off your new wings a bit. You could do a low flight.”

"Minho, you and Gally are the only ones who have seen them. Not even my father." His mother was back at their cottage, with his young brother; his sister was being fostered in another city.

"Oh. Right." Minho tilted his head to the side. "Maybe we spend the morning grooming each other, then? And we can meet Gally and Newt for lunch; they might bring Harriet and Sonya along." 

"Have they declared yet?" Thomas asked. "Or Newt and Alby?" 

"Sonya's adult molt will have just come in, like yours, and Alby and Newt are planning on declaring for marriage tonight, finally. You were out of the city when they declared for courting. I would have written to you, but you were back before I got the chance."

"And you can't write to me when we're in the same city?" Thomas teased. "Clearly, Minho, I'm why we're still together. You don't write, you don't visit."

"But of course, my good sir. You are, after all, the shankiest girl I've ever seen." Minho's smile was wide, his shoulders relaxed. "And surely you don't expect me to write when we live in the same household." 

"Well, a little note here and there wouldn't be amiss." Thomas laughed. It was so much easier to laugh with Minho.

"Of course not." When Thomas glanced up at Minho, his face was soft and fond. “Only the best for you.”

“And only the best for you, love,” Thomas replied, breath suddenly caught in his chest. He looked at Minho’s wings pointedly, hoping Minho would ignore the flush surely spreading across his face. Thankfully, he did, and Thomas brushed out Minho’s feathers as best he could with his fingers.

“Tell me, Thomas, do you like your wings?”

“They’re nice, certainly,” Thomas answered, absentmindedly.

“I’d like a chance to groom them properly.” Minho sat up. “Do you mind if I carry you?”

“Not at all.” Flying with just-molted wings was not recommended, and Minho had carried him in flight enough times for him to know just how to go about it. Thomas stood and folded his wings tight to his back, looping an arm around Minho’s neck when he picked him up, one arm under his knees, the other carefully wedged between his back and his wings. Minho flew them up—not too high, though. (Thomas didn’t really like heights. He never asked how Minho knew this, since he’d never told him, but he did.)

It wasn't a long flight over the gardens; they weren't nearly as large here as they were at any country estate. Even so, Minho took it slowly, letting them enjoy the view and comment on the people passing below. Thomas relaxed more in Minho’s hold, letting his wing beat wash over him.

"There are Sonya and Harriet; Sonya's got her wings covered." Thomas was careful not to lean too far as he looked down. "Gally's with them, ever the responsible chaperone." Thomas knew the only reason he hadn't come with them was that he trusted them not to be untoward in his gardens, and besides, two sensible young ladies clearly needed much more watching than two reckless young men. Minho kept narrating what people were doing, and who was visiting with who—that was always important. Thomas didn't know most of these people. He was the son of a merchant and a farm woman. Even if his mother's jam was sold and praised across the city, and his father held ties to the king and queen, he was untitled and unimportant to them.

"Stop thinking, Thomas, or you'll be unable to dance at the ball. Wouldn't that be a shame?" Minho teased, and Thomas looked at him, mock-pout on his face. Minho kissed him, softly.

That was when Thomas realized they were falling.

At some point, the comforting flap-and-glide of Minho's wings had stopped.

Minho realized, too.

He tried to get them back into the air. His wings were still, like something had stopped them from working.

Minho looked at Thomas, and tried one last time.

Minho rolled them, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Thomas knew then:

It was too late.

Minho knew as soon as he saw the look on Thomas's face what he had to do. He rolled them so his back was to the ground. Thomas couldn't fly right now, couldn’t do anything. 

And Minho would die if anything happened to Thomas. Minho cradled Thomas in his arms.

"We're going to be alright, Thomas. We're going to be just fine.” Minho tucked Thomas’s head against his chest using his chin. Better not to have him staring at the ground as they came to meet it. “Breathe, Thomas. We’ll be fine.” Spreading his wings—the only thing he could do— slowed their descent; by now someone would have noticed that they couldn’t get back into the air.

That Minho had taken the survival position and was protecting Thomas. Maybe they’d get a blanket down.

It wouldn’t be enough.

Glancing at Thomas one last time, Minho thought of his rare smiles, bright and wry and beautiful.

And closed his eyes.


	2. breathing, breathing by your side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas didn't want to wake up--not in a world with Minho.  
> But not everything is as it is seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See endnotes for specific trigger warnings!

Thomas woke up. It was midmorning; he was outside. Why was he outside? There were people yelling, and he thought he heard Gally. Thomas got to his feet, slowly, and looked down.

Minho had been on the ground beneath him.

Minho, whose wings were broken.

Minho, who was probably  _ dead.  _

Thomas ignored the sharp, biting pain in his own wings as he fell to the ground.

_ Minho was dead. _

And there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t give for it to be him, instead.

Or for them to be flying again, happy, alive.

Thomas didn’t know how long he stayed curled over Minho, crying. He did know that it was Harriet and Sonya who pulled him to his feet, who walked him to his room in Gally’s manor, that it was Newt and Alby who brushed out his feathers  _ that was supposed to be Minho’s job, from today forward but Minho was gone, gone, _

_ Gone. _

It was Newt and Alby who gently helped him change and got the doctor in to see him; Newt and Alby who sat by his bed until he fell asleep, still crying.

He woke up, sometime later: Sonya was holding his hand.

"Thomas." Her voice was soft. "Don't try to get up. Your left wing—it's broken. Left wrist, too."

"When is it?" Thomas didn't think he could speak any louder than a whisper.

"When is what, Thomas?"

"Minho's funeral." Sonya looked at him, sad. Maybe-maybe he'd been out for days. What if he had missed Minho's funeral?

"Mr. Murphy, you’re awake. You'll be in bed for the rest of the day; depending on how you feel tomorrow you can move about." Sonya slipped out the door, still looking sad. "You won't be flying for some time." The doctor kept talking, but Thomas tuned him out, numb.

Minho was gone.

Minho was dead, and it was because of him. They could have walked back, they didn't have to fly.

"—You're much better off than the prince, I must say. It was good of him to protect you as he did."

"Minho's alive?" Thomas asked.

"Of course. His wings are broken, which I believe you saw. It will be several months before he can fly again." Thomas sat up.

"I want to see him."

"Now, you are still recovering. You can't go see him today." Gally stepped into the room.

"I'd like a moment with Thomas alone, please." The doctor left, looking between them oddly. Gally sat on the edge of the bed roughly.

"You don't look well," Thomas said softly.

"Two of my friends are injured, Thomas, I'm not going to look well." Gally snapped, then softened visibly. "They're moving Minho. As soon as possible. To Prince Manor."

"What?" Thomas couldn't go to Prince Manor; it was forbidden. Not even his father was allowed on the grounds.

"I know. You should go home, too, Thomas—resting there will be better than here."

"I want to see him, Gally." Gally hesitated.

"Tomorrow. When you're a bit stronger. I'll take you personally. He hasn't woken up, either." Thomas didn't bother turning his head to hide the tears. What if Minho never woke up? What if the future they'd wanted was gone forever?

"Thomas, he'll be fine. You know Minho. Nothing could keep him down for long." Gally tried to reassure him. "Newt and Alby are sitting with him now. He won't be alone, ever, and neither will you."

Thomas stared at his blankets and didn't respond. Gally didn't leave, though. Instead, they sat in silence together until the doctor came back in.

"Are you two done talking now?"

"Yes. I'd like to stay here while Thomas is treated, please." Thomas let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding; he hated doctors. Thankfully, the man didn't stay long, and Thomas went back to sleep.

The faster he got to tomorrow, the better.

"Minho?" Thomas kept his voice to a whisper, although he'd been told that Minho's head was fine and there was no need. It just felt right.

Minho’s wings were wrapped in stiff bandages. He was propped up in a way that couldn’t have been comfortable but kept his wings from further damage.

"Good morning, Thomas," Minho whispered back. "Been waiting for you." Thomas let out a sharp breath when Minho’s eyes opened, brown meeting brown. 

"They told me you hadn't woken up yet." Minho waved a hand dismissively.

"They weren't the person I wanted to see." Thomas bit back a smile. That was so like Minho; ignore anyone he didn’t want to see.

"They're moving you, Minho. To Prince Manor."

"I know. I wish we had gotten a chance to declare, then you could come with us. Or maybe I could convince them that being around friends will be helpful."

"Most of your friends can visit you, Minho."

"You can't, Harriet can't, Sonya can't. The only reason Newt can is that he and Alby declared courting. That's most of you, Thomas. I'll talk them out of it, don't worry. They're not taking me away. I don't want to leave you."

"I should be saying that." Thomas crept further into the room, sitting on the bed gently next to Minho. "Why'd you do it, Minho?"

"Because you can't fly, shank. And besides, I didn't think we were going to die." Thomas caught the fear, flashing on his face, but didn't call him on it. Let Minho have his little lie. "And you're hurt, too. Are you even supposed to be out of bed?"

"Yes, I can be out of bed, Minho." Thomas rolled his eyes. "Where's your guard, anyway? They're not in the hall." 

"I sent most of them away, I think one is standing on the opposite way you came in."

"And I used the servants' stairs, so no one else should be able to get in." Minho smiled softly at him. 

“Exactly.” Carefully, he reached out an arm and pulled Thomas closer to him. They lay like that for a while, drifting into sleep. 

Then Thomas, the more awake of the two, heard footsteps.

Maybe it was the guard returning, or the doctor coming to check on his patient. 

“—now’s a good— get the job done.” They had paused right outside Minho’s door. Thomas sat up a bit, a little more attentive. What was that about?

The door opened, and Thomas pretended to be sleeping. He knew Gally’s father insisted on keeping a dagger in all the bedside tables—but could he get to it if these were intruders? 

“Oh look, the prince’s little boyfriend, too.” They spoke the dialect this city was known for; the intruders were from their own land.

Thomas straightened his body out slowly. He wasn't too far from the nightstand, and even with his broken arm, he should be able to get to the knife.

"Let's get it done before they wake up or anyone realizes we're here." There must have been a nod of agreement because the footsteps were inside the room now. Thomas rolled over, right arm dangling off the bed.

The footsteps froze.

"He just moved, it's fine." 

"What if he wakes up?"

"Then we kill him anyway! Stop talking and get to work!" Thomas took the chance they'd given him and fumbled the nightstand drawer open, grabbing the knife. His hand stung briefly, but he paid it no mind as he got his feet under him.

Facing the intruders, he could see that neither of them had come prepared for a fight.

They had someone on the inside.

"Get him!" The older one, the one who had said to kill even if he woke up, shouted. Clearly, Minho's guards were gone, maybe dead, maybe traitors.

Thomas didn't know what he was doing (it had been years since he'd had any training), but he lunged forward anyway, right wing near flat against his back and left out awkwardly. He caught the younger one across the arm but had to dodge backwards before he could get another in.

"Put down the knife and we won't kill you, kid."

"Yeah, like I'm stupid enough to believe that." Thomas lunged again, this time striking at the older man. The knife hit, slicing across the man’s shoulder. He let out a hiss of pain and struck at Thomas, but Thomas was quick to step out of reach.

His main goal was to make it so they couldn't touch Minho.

No one would hurt Minho, not on his watch.

Thomas kept up this pattern, of sorts. Stepping in to swipe at them, arms, chest, face, wherever he could reach, and trying to get out of the way before they hit him.

“You can’t beat us, kid. Two on one, and you’re injured. Just let us get it over with already.” The older man growled, but he was tiring; slowing. 

Thomas breathed for a moment, assessing himself. His left shoulder was aching—no surprise there—and he thought he was bleeding somewhere.

Looking at the would-be assassins, he knew who had it worse.

They were both bleeding from multiple wounds, most of them shallow.

Well, this one wouldn't be.

Thomas slipped inside the younger man’s guard and stabbed the knife solidly into his abdomen.

“Over my dead body.” He pulled the knife out and stared at the older man. He hoped he looked scarier than he felt.

“Then I’ll just have to kill you the hard way.” The man charged.

Thomas shifted left and swung wide, just clipping his arm. 

But the man had shifted with him, this time.

The weight of him knocked Thomas to the floor and he grit his teeth against a scream. His left wing was pinned and he couldn’t use the knife at this angle.

"All that fighting for nothing. Could've given you an easy death, boy. But now you've gone and stabbed my trainee." Warm blood dripped onto Thomas's face; he closed his eyes against it. 

The man wrenched the knife from his hand and ran it across Thomas’s face. He tightened his lips against the blood-stained blood, but otherwise refused to react.

It took Thomas three jerky motions, but he managed to switch their positions.

He kicked up as hard as he could.

Headbutted the man’s nose.

And flipped them.

He grabbed the knife back and held it to the man’s throat.

“What is going on here?” The doctor had finally arrived, out of breath, looking frightened. “I sent for more guards, the men at the doors were dead.”

“These two were going to assassinate Minho. I stopped them. Send for the royal guard, please. And some of the lord’s men. We need to find out if the prince’s guard were killed, drugged, or traitors.” The man stared at him for a moment before moving to do as he requested, sending curious servants off to get help and more medical supplies.

“Check on Minho first. I’ll stay here until the guard comes.” Thomas didn’t intend to move off the man until he was certain he wouldn’t be able to attack again. Once news got through the castle that Minho had been attacked, it would only be a few minutes. Especially as the doctor had already sent word; no doubt someone was already coming. Thomas felt his breathing begin to even out.

“Thomas! What happened?” Gally rushed into the room, followed by his father and Newt.

Or he would have, if Thomas hadn’t stopped him.

“We need to clear the area for the guards to arrest these men. Minho should be moved to a different room; this one needs a good cleaning.”

“Thomas! Did you… fight them?”

“Yes, Gally, I did.” The doctor finished looking Minho over.

“He’s stable enough to be moved to a nearby room. I suggest we do that now, and one of you watches these two, so I can treat Mr. Murphy.” 

It seemed to be the first time any of them had realized that Thomas was injured.

“The blood’s not all mine, don’t worry.” He said, weary. All he’d wanted to do was see his boyfriend. Why did that have to be so hard?

“Of course not, Thomas. Gally’s going to stay here, come on.” Newt grabbed his arm gently and pulled him to his feet. He tried to take the knife but Thomas wouldn’t let him, instead handing it to Gally in the doorway.

Gally just nodded solemnly. “They won’t be going anywhere, Thomas.” Thomas leaned on Newt as they followed the doctor and Gally’s father, holding a mostly-asleep Minho gingerly between them, to a new room. Minho was propped back up, and Newt sat Thomas down rather forcefully.

“His hand, doctor.” Newt said, and Thomas remembered picking up the knife. He’d done that to himself.

“Yes, I saw. Let me take a look, boy.” The words were rough, but his manner contrasted them greatly. Thomas was bleeding in more places than his hand, which they discovered when they washed the blood off of his face. The skin on his forehead had split from the impact with the older man’s nose, and one of them must have had a knife or another small blade—he had a long, shallow cut up the side of his arm.

"You're lucky this is so shallow, Mr. Murphy." The doctor bandaged him up and checked his left arm and wing.

"Well, I suggest you keep both of them in bed for several days. It will lessen the risk of reinjury, and Mr. Murphy may suffer from confusion, with his head wound." Alby—when had he gotten here?—led Thomas to Minho's bed, and helped him in.

"Thomas, you'll have to tell us what happened." Alby said. Thomas saw Gally and Newt nodding. Now that he was lying down, though, Thomas let the adrenaline rush go and relaxed.

"Tomorrow, boys. He'll tell us all tomorrow." Gally's father ushered them out of the room. "I'll have my men posted here, two outside the door and two out in the hall. The prince's guard are welcome to join them. There will be trained maids checking them every hour. You don't need to stay." Thomas didn't hear the rest of the argument. He curled up to Minho, just aware enough to make sure it wouldn't hurt either of them, and fell asleep.

"Morning, sleepy shank." He woke to Minho murmuring into his hair. "How about you tell me that story now, huh?" Thomas, still half-asleep, told Minho everything, unaware of his shocked audience and Minho's own wide eyes as he described the fight.

When the doctors cleared them for activity (because they refused to be separated again), the first thing that happened was Minho's mother presenting them each with ornate daggers and insisting they learn to use them.

Gally had given Thomas the knife he had so messily stopped the would-be assassins with, cleaned of blood.

“Protect our fine prince well, Thomas.” It was said jokingly, but there was sincerity in his eyes.

Minho? Minho had just smiled and pulled Thomas close. “Of course he will, Gally. And I will protect our Thomas just as well.” Thomas had looked between them, and laughed, the sound startling them both.

**One year later**

Thomas almost didn’t want to go down the stairs. Sure, he was dressed in the best clothing he’d ever owned—finely tailored silks instead of his on-the-go tailored cotton and muslin. And yes, his wings were groomed to perfection—the greens highlighted just so.

This was supposed to be one of the happiest days of his young life.

(And the last one of those hadn’t turned out so well.) 

He didn’t have Gally with him, this time. No, he was alone.

So Thomas took a deep breath and started down the first flight of stairs.He glanced out over the assembled gentry as he walked. Gally; Sonya and Harriet, having declared for courtship, finally, at the last ball; Newt and Alby, having married midwinter; their parents, of course; his own parents, as well as his sister, Teresa, and younger brother, Chuck; the queen and Minho's older brother, Jeff (the king's son from his first marriage); the whole court was here.

All dressed in their finest.

Well, maybe not their finest, but it was certainly up there.

Thomas met Minho on the first landing. Minho, dressed in dark blue silks, smiled at him, more broadly than he usually allowed himself in public. He took Thomas's hand and pressed a kiss to the scar there.

"My hero." He whispered, wry amusement lighting up his face.

Stars, Thomas wanted to kiss him.

Minho smiled, just for him, one last time. Thomas smiled back, hoping his nerves weren't betrayed. Then Minho offered his arm and they turned to the crowd together.

"Good people, Mr. Thomas Murphy and I have an announcement to make." Minho's voice was smooth and strong. "We are declaring our courtship to be accepted by those assembled today."

Someone—Thomas wasn't sure who—shouted the traditional words: "And do you, my prince, come willingly into this courtship?"

"I do." Minho replied firmly. "Willingly and joyfully."

"Mr. Murphy, do you come willingly into this courtship?" Another stranger.

That was part of the tradition too. No close friends or family could ask.

"I do." He glanced at Minho, smiling slightly, before allowing it to spread. "Willingly and with pleasure."

"Family and friends, do you accept this courtship?" The steward, at the bottom of the stairs.

“As a friend to both, I accept.” Gally spoke first, then Sonya and the rest followed.

“As family to Thomas, I accept.” It was Teresa who spoke first, though she still eyed Minho with suspicion. (She would never think anyone good enough for her brother.) 

“As family to Minho, I accept.” Jeff didn’t really care, other than to play his part. Thomas’s family accepted—as expected. His parents would do anything they thought would make their children happy.

The room stilled as everyone turned to the queen.

“I accept the courtship.” She said simply. “And the public?” There was a loud agreement, and Thomas couldn’t stop himself from grinning, undignified as it was. He squeezed Minho’s arm under his hand and they moved down the stairs together.

The first dance of the night was theirs, alone but together.

Thomas didn’t think he’d ever stop smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS  
> (non-graphic) descriptions of blood  
> Knifes  
> Death mentions
> 
> Hey everyone! Thanks for reading!  
> Come hang out @nix-writes and/or @mazegays on tumblr! Send me headcanons and even fic requests (fair warning: I start a new semester next week. writing will be slower paced)  
> Hope you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!  
> As always,  
> Nix

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! Welcome back to inconsistent updates with Nix! It's a pleasure, really.  
> Let me know what you thought! Kudos and comments really keep me going.  
> Thanks for reading!  
> As always,  
> Nix


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